Kismet
by Paramour Party
Summary: 3SHOT - Paul Lahote never got his hopes up on the whole imprinting phenomenon. Forever the lone wolf on the prowl with no need of a leash. At least it was supposed to be that way. She'd only glanced at him for a second but that second was enough to make his vision tunnel and focus only on her.


Kismet  
 _Imprinting_  
By: Paramour Party

 **! WARNING:** some **Sexual** content (I say some because I think I fail at writing smut and as a result cut it out hahahaha); probably some excessive use of the word: **Fuck** and maybe other swearing ! 

* * *

Paul Lahote never got his hopes up on the whole imprinting phenomenon. A supposed rare thing that left the majority of his pack paired off with their soul mates… well he knew there was going to be that one wolf who wouldn't find that imprint. And he was okay with that because he wasn't about to let the pack life take his love— or rather— sex life into its hands and run like it did with the rest of his choices. Go to the bar and give the right woman the bedroom eyes and smirk, a few choice words, and he was in. Forever the lone wolf on the prowl with no need of a leash.

At least it was supposed to be that way.

All he had wanted was a week off from pack business; seven days away from his brothers and the fucking bloodsuckers. Was that too much to ask for? It must have been because as he walked down into the hotel lobby from his room in search for some lunch his eyes met hers.

She'd only glanced at him for a second but that second was enough to make his vision tunnel and focus only on her. The hairs on his arm and the back of his neck rose in anticipation and he felt himself tensing in panic. Fuck. Of fucking course he'd find his fucking imprint while on a hiking trip in fucking British Columbia of all places.

She wasn't at all like his usual flavour of tall, voluptuous, or easy. In fact, she was rather short in comparison to himself. She had minimal make up on and her hair was curly and tied up into what probably started out as a neat bun or whatever it was called. And judging from the way she dressed (in some expensive looking silky summer dress) and held herself straight with some air of authority, she was way out of his fucking league. She wouldn't even look twice at him. Fuck. Fucking hell. He was fucking screwed.

He blinked realizing he'd been standing there drinking in the image of her and slowly backed away from the lobby desk where she was checking in. Fuck. Lunch completely forgotten, Paul rushed back towards the elevators and to his room where he slammed the door shut and crouched with his head between his knees trying to catch his breath.

"Shit."

What was he going to do?

* * *

A long jog in the mountains behind the hotel he was staying at reined in his infamous temper and cleared his mind. Well… sort of. He'd always thought his pack-mates exaggerated the intensity of attraction and emotions that came with imprinting but experiencing it first hand told him that wasn't true. The instant rush of something, not necessarily love but something so fucking close, caught him off guard. It was too good to be true; "Love at first sight" didn't happen to people like him and imprinting on a woman who would probably not give him a minute of her day just cemented that.

He clenched his fists trying to tone down the anxiety that slowly built within him. God. If he couldn't have her for forever, at least let him have her for a week. Just one perfect week with this woman who is supposed to be his perfect fit. Fuck. It wasn't even about sex. Just let him bask in her presence; let her acknowledge his existence; let them be something more— more than just strangers for a week. That was all he wanted.

He didn't cross paths with her again until late after supper. He was at the hotel bar trying and failing to drown away his angst when she stepped into the room. Gone was the summer dress, but she had slim fitted dark pants on and a baggy sports sweater with an unfamiliar team crest on the front that slipped off one shoulder exposing soft skin. She had her wallet in one hand and a book in the other and she walked with purpose to the bar just a few seats away from him.

"Is the kitchen still open?" she asked the bartender. Her voice was lower than he thought it would be and the british accent surprised him, but god it was perfect. He didn't know if it was the imprint magic or just her voice in general that made her sound sultry without really trying, but it made him wonder what his name would sound like if it came from between her lips.

He tried not to seem like some creep staring her down but it was hard. She was so close and still so far all the same. Paul didn't know how to open up the conversation without seeming like he was only trying to get into her pants (and while he wouldn't turn down the opportunity if she offered it, it wasn't what he wanted—at the moment). He watched as she received her order of food and drink and started to eat but she hadn't once opened her book.

A glance at the title had him grimacing. He remembered having to read the book for high school (a classic his teacher said… Although everything was considered a classic to his teacher) but he never really paid much attention in english. She must have noticed his look because she glanced at him and quirked an amused smile.

"Catcher in the Rye not your type of book?" she asked.

Paul had to steady his breath and refrain himself from bringing a hand to his chest to ease the sudden skip in his heart. She was talking to him. His imprint was making the first move.

"Uh— to be honest, I don't remember much of it. I never really paid attention to my classes in high school," he admitted slightly embarassed and shrugged his shoulder.

She gave a light laugh. "Well, I can't really blame you. When there are sports to be played, who really needs books? Or so my best friends say," she said with a roll of her eyes.

Paul chuckled and thinking back to his high school days, agreed that sports were much more important to him then; well it was until pack life kicked in. He moved to sit closer to her and ordered some food to clear out the little bit alcohol in his system faster.

"What brings you to good old Canada? A little far from home aren't you?" he asked.

"Passing through. I was on a work assignment but I finished early so I decided to stay and do some vacationing." She took a sip from her drink before continuing. "How about you? You from around these parts?"

"Nah. Washington. I needed a break from work and thought some hiking and camping would be nice," he replied. Paul watched her slight wince at his hiking comment and he smirked. "Hiking not your thing?" he asked.

She shook her hand in disagreement. "Oh! No, nothing like that. Just remembered a camping trip that… went— erm— terribly. I came here to try and redeem camping; although I'm not actually camping since I'm not going out in a tent." A light blush dusted her cheeks as she continued to ramble, and it made her look all the more endearing. "But I didn't have the courage to camp on my own so I suppose the hotel had to do in the meantime. I thought hiking would be a step in the right direction."

"Nothing wrong with that," he said, "If ever you'd like some company on your hikes I'd be happy to join you."

She blinked up at him in surprise at the offer but she didn't pull away or look wary. She gave him a smile that had his heart beating faster and the alluring pull on his inner wolf whining for more attention. "I'd like that."

Paul grinned and held out his hand to her. "I'm Paul, by the way."

"Hermione," she replied as she placed her smaller hand in his in a firm shake and reluctantly let her hand drop from his. "Have you tried any of the trails yet?"

Time seemed to slow and yet still go by quickly as they carried on their conversation and when their meals were finished (but stomachs not quite full), Paul ordered an assorted platter of appetizers for them to share. He was mesmerized by her, and he'd like to think that without the imprinting, when he was ready to settle down, he'd come to fall in love with her (or a woman like her at least). The longer the night went on, Paul realized his imprint was too good to be true, and while he'd been wrong about the fact that she'd never look twice at him, he was right about one thing: she was out of his league. There was no way someone as intelligent and successful as her would settle for a part-time electrician and shape-shifting freak. In no time, the bar was reaching it's closing hours and with a promise to meet in the morning for a hike, Paul watched Hermione walk away, a grin on his lips.

* * *

Two days later (or technically nearly three judging from the way the sun peeked through the open window) found Paul laying on his side, captivated by the sight beside him. His fingers danced across the expanse of naked skin; first across her shoulders then down her spine until they brushed against the edge of the thin sheet that covered the rest of Hermione's sleeping form. Pulling the sheet up to her shoulders, Paul brushed back the few curls that covered her face and placed a soft kiss to her forehead; then, as gently as he could, he slipped out of bed to stretch and just take in the sight before him some more. God. He was so fucked. One week wasn't enough, but it's what he's going to have to settle for no matter how much it made his heart ache.

Picking up the book Hermione had on her bedside table, he walked as quietly as he could to the balcony. He needed air. Or maybe a cigarette. Something to just release the tension that was building with the anxiety that came with the inevitable end of the week. He tried reading the book Hermione insisted he'd like but memories of the night before were not as easy to push away as the doubt he felt.

He got what he wanted; they were no longer strangers, but now he wanted more. Was it greedy of him to want more? More than just a week? Paul briefly contemplated leaving the pack behind, following Hermione to England, but he couldn't do that to his family and he couldn't ask her to do the same. Part of him wanted to regret jumping into bed with Hermione so quickly, but he couldn't. He didn't. Damn. Even if he had the chance to go back in time to prevent even meeting her, he wouldn't, because he'd never felt so complete in his life and he'd take the measly week of bliss over nothing.

Just remembering the way she had met him in the lobby the night before in a fitted flirty dress that swayed with each step had him groaning. He'd pegged Hermione as too good to be true, and while that was still the case, he never thought she'd had a streak of trouble in her too. And boy was it dangerous. Nearly personified trouble with her sexy, smug, and mischievous smirk that he wanted to wipe off her face with a deep breath-stealing kiss; a glint in her bright brown eyes told him her mind was constantly looking for another challenge to breeze through.

They'd been dining with a group of hikers they met (or more like Hermione befriended) on their trail and the small cozy booth had given Paul an excuse to press a little closer to his imprint. That she didn't try to put space between them and only gave him a raised brow when he rested his arm behind her had him feeling a little more daring. Watching her sip at her glass of red wine, making her lips a little more red, had him licking his own lips in anticipation; he let her lean against him as she laughed and she didn't seem to mind when his fingers traced light circles on her shoulder or when he played with a curl or two as they all conversed.

It was on her second glass of wine that had him noticing the change in her eyes. It was a glint that meant danger and instead of warning him off it tugged him closer. Hermione grew bolder then, letting her own hand rest on one of his knees, then a little higher on his inner thigh. He only smirked at her and she just gave him this look that had him wanting her more than he wanted anything.

Then, instead of parting ways in the lobby as they usually did, she pulled him by the belt loops of his pants into the elevator with her. He smirked against her neck as he kissed the spot just below her ear before letting his tongue drag lazily down the side to her shoulder where he gave her a little nip.

He whispered promises in her ear as she fumbled with her purse to find her key card; and when she finally opened the door to her hotel room, he had his arms around her, lifting her, wrapping her legs around him. He kissed her then, stealing her breath away like she stole his and he knew in that moment there was no going back. He was hooked.

"Hmmm. I've always found it incredibly sexy when men read. Even better when said men are nearly naked and lit by the rising sun. It's like the perfect cover of a harlequin novel," Hermione said from her sitting position on the bed. Her voice still hoarse from sleep.

Paul looked up from the page he'd been staring at without reading a single word and took in the sight of his Imprint; Sex mussed hair, red marks along the side of her neck and down to her collar bone and more that she hid with the thin sheet she'd wrapped around herself. His eyes darkened and he smirked. He prowled towards her and watched as her own eyes darkened.

"Good morning," he said as he put the book back in its spot before he leaned over her, hands sliding up her knees to her thighs, lips ghosting over her cheek.

The hand not holding on to her sheet stroked a path up his arm and then around his neck. "A good morning indeed," she murmured her eyes fluttering shut. He left a trail of light kisses down her cheek to the side of her lips before he claimed them. Hermione hummed in satisfaction letting the sheet pool around her waist so she could wrap both of her hands around him and pull him down onto the bed.

His hands caressed her body; down her arms, up her sides, around her back, gripping her bum to pull her closer. The hitch in her breath and light moans spurred him on as he whispered more promises to her.

"Please, Paul," she gasped against him.

He grinned against her. "Don't worry, Dove," he said as he nipped her ear, "you know I keep my promises."

He left a trail of hot wet kisses from her ear down the side of her neck; his tongue drew a line across her collar bone and down between her breasts before he took one into his mouth, tongue swirling, teasing around her nipple. His hand fondled her other breast, squeezing.

Leaving her breasts, he continued to leave a trail of kisses, licks, and bites down her body. His hands left firms strokes down her thighs as settled himself between her legs; he lifted them places kisses on her inner thighs as he let them rest over his shoulders.

"Fuck," she hissed when his fingers slipped home and curled at just the right spot.

"It's so sexy when you say 'fuck'," he tells her before his tongue is on her and leaving her breathless, arching against the bed.

Much later, the sun was setting and it was bittersweet. The close of another day meant their inevitable end was drawing nearer and he wasn't ready to say goodbye. Paul and Hermione lounged on the bench at the corner of her room's balcony; Hermione curled into his side, his arm wrapped around her as he read Catcher in the Rye aloud. It was in that moment Paul realized he was quickly falling for Hermione. Was it crazy to fall in love in just a few days?

It had to be crazy. But the more he thought about it Paul just knew even without the imprint, that she was it for him. He didn't know exactly what it was, but there was just something about Hermione that made it easy for him to fall in love with her. Her very presence put him at ease; the thought of having Hermione by his side just clicked everything into place, it made sense, it just was.

He shook the thoughts away; he didn't want to dwell on what he couldn't have. It'd make letting go that much harder when the day came.

"Everything okay?" Hermione asked.

There was a pause of silence between them; the words Paul wanted to say were heavy and stuck in his throat. Instead, he looked down at her, grinned, and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Perfect," he said.

Hermione imprint looked skeptical and she took the book from his hands and put it aside. "How can I make it better?"

Paul chuckled raising his brows. "Well I can think of a few things to have a utopian evening," he replied, "We can start with dessert and then take a break for some dinner, and if we're not too full, maybe another round of dessert involving chocolate. In the case where we are full, we can have the chocolate sweet, nice and slow."

His imprint laughed. "You're incorrigible."

"But you love me for it."

Hermione grinned as she leaned up, "Yeah, I do," she said just before pressed a kiss to his lips.

* * *

They had just passed the last of the security checks at the airport and they stood off to the side out of the way of other travellers. Paul's heart clenched at the frown pulling at his Imprint's lips. They lingered for a moment, the air around them filled with uncertainty. Paul brushed back some curls from Hermione's face then let his fingers dance down her arm before taking hold of her hand. There was a lump in his throat and the words he wanted to say wouldn't come out.

He felt her grip his hand tightly, her lips parting to say something but she paused and her posture faltered. Paul pulled her in for a hug, holding her tight.

"I'm really happy to have met you, Hermione," he whispered in her ear uncaring if his voice cracked.

She squeezed him back.

"I'm happy to have met you too, Paul," she said, her own voice low.

He pulled away just a bit to see her face. "If ever you're in Washington, come to the La Push rez, I'll treat you to a real nice camping trip." He winked, trying to lighten the air around them. Hermione gave a small laugh and smiled. "And maybe try to join the modern age and get a phone," he said as he wiggled his brows in suggestion, "that way we can try some of that sexy phone times."

Hermione hit him lightly but hugged him close again. "You're an incorrigible fiend," she mumbled into his chest.

Paul kissed the top of her head as he chuckled. "Maybe."

With one last squeeze Hermione let him go with a sigh. "I should go," she said as she stepped away.

Paul reached for her hand one more time pulling her in for one last kiss; pouring everything he couldn't say into action and hoping it'd be enough. When they finally parted Hermione stepped back slowly giving him one last sad smile. "Goodbye, Paul," she said.

He waved back and watched as she turned and walked away blending into the crowd. He couldn't say goodbye, not when it meant the end of everything he didn't know he wanted. Instead, he let the words rest on his tongue, leaving behind a bitter ashy taste that left him feeling sick.

To Be Continued.

* * *

At the moment, this is a 3 part story. The next chapter is written from Hermione's POV. The last, back in Paul's.

I hope you enjoyed!

I fail at writing smut soooo I cut out what I attempted to write hahaha, if someone out there wants to help me write smut feel free to get into contact with me! I'd appreciate it!

ALSO TO APOLOGIZE FOR MY LONG ABSENCE:

NOVELTY HAS BEEN UPDATED

And I have a new One Shot (Hermione Granger/Derek Morgan) written for my 100th reviewer of Novelty.

That's the end of my shameless plug.


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